


Together in All But Blood

by Blakpaw



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: (They're teen-to preteen years), Boys' home, Emotional Trauma, Emotional boys begin emotional, I know little next to nothing about foster systems so I'm sorry if I mess it up any, John needs a hug always, Just so much trauma, Kid Fic, Mentions of Infant Death, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of child prostitiution, Mentions of committing murder as a minor, Orphan Boys making a family together, Other, Physical Trauma, St. Swithins centric, Underage tag is for the aforementioned childhood prostitution, child abuse mentions, chosen family, gun use, mentions of child death, mentions of homeless children, mentions of troubled children, mentions of witnessing murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-06-06 08:58:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blakpaw/pseuds/Blakpaw
Summary: Father Riley had been taking care of the orphaned boys home for almost two decades now, and if he must admit he didn't see and end in sight any time soon. Despite his many years being through so many files he had not quite a file quite like the case he was being asked to review now.





	1. Prologue

St. Swithins was known for taking in the more damaged variety of boys, the children who often remained broken in some way through their lives. It was not because St. Swithins specifically asked for these children, it was just the simple fact that no other home would take in the boys, they were to much for others to deal with, and so tragically most orphaned boys who found themselves in the care of the attending priest often stayed tell they aged out of the system, put on the streets and abandoned again. Such is the tragedy of living in a crowded, unforgiving, society.

Father Riley had been taking care of the orphaned boys home for almost two decades now, and if he must admit he didn't see and end in sight any time soon. Despite his many years being through so many files he had not quite a file like the case he was being asked to review now. The case was nicknamed the Three B’s, seeing as all three boys involved had names that started with a B somewhere.

Unknown name, goes by alias Bane, age sixteen, around 6’2’’, unknown lineage, possibly from more eastern descent, unknown place of origin, oldest of the three and the quietest, often does not speak even when spoken to, is known to illegally own several hunting knives, suffers from asthma and has severe medical conditions requiring pain medication and support bracers. He has a very round face, with a strong jaw but puffy cheeks, his nose was crooked, he donned a pair of dark hazel eyes, the only hair he seems to have is his eyebrow hairs, and he was covered in scars all across his body, a large portion of which were either knife wounds or burns. He has several dislocated lumbar vertebrae, which require a brace, and his right wrist now has several screws in it, also requiring a brace, and a long bisecting scar down his back. His right hand is extremely damaged, and he's currently in physical therapy to regain full use of the hand.

Alexander Dasha Noah Barsad, age fourteen, Scandinavian-Russian lineage, it is unclear how he came to America, around 5’6’’ in height, parents killed in a murder/house fire combination when he was seven, ran away from a foster home at nine and vanished, is currently suspected to be illegally owning several firearms, the middle child of the group, speaks only when spoken to, can become extremely hostile, and has severe trust issues. Unlike Bane, Barsad has an unnaturally straight nose, with the slightest of bumps in the center, his jawline is smooth but still prominent, he has dark brown, slightly ginger tinted hair, that sticks up as if some large animal had gone about messily grooming his head, patches protruding were they pleased, and deep, droopy, blue eyes. It is noted that he has long, whiplash like scars across his back.

Robin John Blake, age twelve, American decent around 4’4’’, Mother killed in a car crash, Father murdered in a gambling related crime, moved to a previous orphanage before vanishing after speaking to a man near his new home at age seven, speaks of previous bouts of child prostitution, is the youngest of the group, has extreme anger and trust issues. The boy has long, unruly hair that gets in his eyes easily, he's thin and gaunt looking, with ears that stick out widely, something that he perhaps might not ever grown into, his eyes are a warm, dark, brown. The boy is noted to have the least scars, though he has scars of a more disturbing manor. On his right side of his back, just over his kidney, there's a brand brunt into his skin of a simplified bird in flight, and all along his back and arms their are countless bite marks, forever etched into his skin.

All three refuse to be separated, and have known to become extremely violent or catatonic when separated. Bane is often known to either completely shut down or panic when the younger two are out of sight, whilst Barsad seems to enter a professional cop style interrogation, he becomes extremely tense and hostile, and Robin often starts screeching and attacking anyone who gets near, biting and clawing at those who get close.

Riley glances at the pictures of the boys, resigned to understand that these three would be a lot to handle for any facility, especially his small one. But his Catholic heart reaches out to them with sympathy,all of them are mere children and yet they have the looks of adults in their eyes, hardened by whatever world they had faced on the streets for so long. Riley looks up at their caseworker and he gives a gentle sigh as he puts the file down, glancing over the woman’s tired and haggard looking form.

He says, calmly, “When did you say I could meet them, again?”


	2. Chapter 1:Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1, the first few weeks of life from the perspective of Bane.

John was sat on the sturdy wooden bench between Bane and Barsad, his favorite place to be, between his favorite people, swinging his legs idly. Bane always preferred to see John like this, these brief moments were John would just be content to be a kid for a little while. However, they are all beyond their years, and these moments can not often last long, and were often few and far between. Bane idly carded his fingers through his hair, Barsad leaning against the back of the bench, watching them with those ever hawk like, deceptively sleepy looking eyes of his. Occasionally he reached out to touch John’s back, pat him softly, and then to withdraw and watch again. Of the three of them, Barsad was not often known for being affectionate in public, preferring to spend a majority of his time watching the people that existed around them, saving his softer side for more private settings. They had been sitting on this bench for almost twenty minutes, Bane’s been counting, and they are content to continue to wait.

Bane must be honest with himself, as he often is, and say he did not expect to end up here. He had expected to spend a very long time on the streets, and perhaps it isn’t quite so bad that they had been found. He thinks that maybe John and Barsad can be children for a while, young, enthusiastic spirits. However, he also knows they cannot completely be children ever again, not after what they have seen and done, but they can pretend for a while. Barsad turns his head towards the door of their caseworkers office room, she was a woman with kind intents, but the three had come to take a disliking to her due to the fact she had separated them several times despite their protests. Bane understands it was for evaluation, but they often did better together then when they found themselves separated.

It also seems she’s been meeting with another orphanage to try and take them in. They had found themselves extracted from the last three children’s homes, and at least the last eight or so foster homes, due to violent behavior. Bane found that to be absolutely ridiculous, by the way, it was the adults who were being irrational and getting on poor little John about acting out, and then expecting Bane and Barsad to sit by and do nothing as they scold the child for being hurt and confused by the world that has taken so much from him. Bane drew his lips into a thin line and ruffled John’s hair, pulling himself from those thoughts to pay attention to their caseworker, Hilda, and the man she had been meeting with for around two days now, a man whom he’d heard be called “Father Riley”. He’s not sure how fond he is, or will be, of the man yet, seeing as he’s never gotten along with religious people well, he finds he is often to pragmatic and closed minded for his interest, but sweet little John has an open enough imagination to believe them.

The man smiled gently at them, he was middle to late aged, his dark black hair becoming washed out and gray, his face worn with folds to mark out his features. He walked alongside Hilda tell he stood in front of them, and Barsad shifted to sit up straighter. Bane was well aware the younger boy had a pistol in the inner workings of his baggy jacket, tucked into the lining via a well hidden cut opening in it. He kept his hands in his pockets, and Bane moved his hand to possessively rest on John’s shoulder, the youngest of them turning to look up at the newcomer.

Hilda made a soft motion to Riley, softly flicking her long, wavy, brown-blond hair over her shoulder, blue eyes alight with hesitant excitement as she introduced them “Boys, this is Father Riley, he’s in charge of taking care of the boys down at St. Swithins, Father this is Bane, Blake, and Barsad! Say hello boys.” she encouraged lightly. Bane squeezed John’s shoulder, and they all just stared at Riley. It’s amusing really, they’ve been through this several times, and Hilda still expects them to offer greetings.

Unperturbed, it seems, Father Riley just offered a gentle smile “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you boys. I’ve been looking over your file, and I think that, maybe, you might just have a chance at a good life with us down at St. Swithins.” he knelt down to be closer to eye level with John, but Barsad beat Bane into pulling John closer to himself, away from Riley. The older man didn’t seem to be offended, however, he just smiled and stood back up, and he glanced at Hilda “I’ll be back later today to pick them up, I’ll be by after lunch. I hope to see you boys ready and good to go.” Riley told them gently and earnestly. Barsad just lowered his brows a bit and John remained absolutely still with his body leaned on him, Bane reaching to pull both closer to himself as they remained in a deep silence. The old man gave one last smile and wave before he turned and followed Hilda out of the building.

____

As promised, Father Riley returned to them after lunch, Bane stood with their bags in his arms, Barsad needed his hands free if someone decided to step out of line and try and hurt them. John was standing between them, rocking on his feet as he waited. When they caught sight of Riley, they made their way towards the older man, keeping their faces neutral and silent. He greeted them kindly before helping them get their things set up into his car, though Bane didn’t let him touch their things for long, and refused to let him touch John at all. When they finally got in Riley began to ask questions, mundane things like what music they liked, but the three continued to remain silent. Bane stared into the rear view mirror, eyes locking with Riley through the mirror when ever he glanced back at them, whilst Barsad continued to quietly observe their surrounding, silently categorizing were they were going. John stared at his lap most of the ride,still sitting between his “brothers” shifting to alternate between leaning against Bane and then Barsad.

After the brief yet thoroughly awkward car ride, Riley finally pulled up to the small, worn down building that had been St. Swithins for lord knows how long now. The boys gathered their things respectively and walked inside. Riley called the other boys to greet their newcomers, the introductions continued to be tense, and it was glaringly clear the three didn’t want to speak with these utter strangers. Though some boys seemed disappointed a vast majority seemed to understand and respect their silence. A group of the older boys, much closer to Bane’s age, lead the three around the facility. Within the hour they were being shown the room they’d share. Bane silently decides the priest is already doing better than some of their previous caretakers, seeing as most previously refused to let them share a room.

And then they were left alone. Bane chose the larger of the three beds, simply because it would be the only one that wouldn’t cause significant damage to his back, Barsad and John would be willing to switch beds, so long as they got one to sleep on at night. Bane put some of his medical equipment under the bed, as both a marker to his place and a place to keep them near and safe before moving to stash what little clothes he had with his brothers’ in their shared dresser.

Finally, with that all done with Bane finally sits down, and opens his arms, Barsad falls into his lap, pulling John onto his so the three of them could be close and cuddled together. It was a tradition had started when they were both far smaller, but one they refused to give up. Bane sighed softly, pressing his plump, crooked, nose into Barsad’s hair, running his fingers through John’s. Barsad sighed softly, gently patting John’s back, mumbling softly in his thick, yet smooth, sounding accented voice “What is wrong, little bird? You are so tense, you are sure to work yourself into another headache.” the darkest haired of them mumbled, turning to rest his cheek on top of tiny John’s head. The youngest just grumbled, hiding his face in Barsad’s chest. Moving home was always hardest for poor little John, he made the most connections, the most bonds of the three of them, and it always bothered and ate away at his poor tiny body when he thought of abandoning his new friends.

However, knowing him so well, they had expected as such to happen. Poor little John always tended to revert in these moments, to become a younger, smaller version of himself. He often sucked his thumb or toddled after them as if he was but a toddler and not nearly in his teenage years. Bane hummed in amusement at his little family, as they indulged such bad habits in John, just as they indulged Bane in letting him care for them, and just as they indulged in Barsad’s terrible sleeping habits, his need to keep them safe. They were a bunch of indulgent fools, but Bane would have them no other way. His smile faded as he focused on holding them right now, it would not be easy, it never was, to start again, it didn’t help that most the kids they met, much like themselves, had attachment issues of some form or another, or anxiety. And then there was the prospect of school, something Bane could really do without thinking of. He hated the very idea of being separated from his brothers for almost eight hours a day for five days of the week. Bane silently concluded none of them would probably make it over half an hour without breaking down in some form.

The silence that fell over them was no longer tense, but rather relaxing and calm in a way that only they could express with each other, held together and enjoying being close with the people they care for. They shared their space together for a long while, soothing poor little John into a calmer state, gently pulling him from his reverted state into the hardened boy of the streets they’d spent years protecting and caring for.

____

The first few days dragged on in a glum atmosphere, they still had roughly a month until school started, and Father Riley was determined to try and home school them over the summer, jam-pack years of education in a number of weeks. The three often stayed locked in their shared room, nervous and skeptical of the outsiders beyond the walls they cooped themselves up in. Despite being small, John was the bravest of the three of them, and therefore the most open about being a curious soul, he sought to explore the world around him, and he would not allow himself to be caged, and so his brothers had to follow.

John was slowly stepping down the stairwell, the three keeping their feet light and quite. Barsad and Bane watched as their youngest brother peered around the wall separating the stairwell from the living room area, they could hear children laughing and playing. Nervously, John gripped at the wall, glancing back at his brothers. Bane gave him a hesitant but encouraging nod. He did not like the idea, but he wanted little John to be able to at least make some friends. The lithe form of their little brunet slowly stepped out further, Barsad taking John’s place in peering cautiously around the wall at the others, Bane was close behind, both the older boys ready to spring should John be hurt.

The room went silent as the boys looked over at their newest guest, John definitely looking from face to face, a silent challenge to try anything. A boy around his age slowly stood up, glancing at the other kids before stepping forwards, he gave a big grin, showing off the gap in his teeth “Hi, I’m Kyle, it’s nice to meet you.” he greeted gently, sticking his hand out to John. The younger boy glanced down at his hand and gently shoot it “John.” he mumbled softly, awkwardly taking his hand away and tucking it into his pocket.

Kyle gave John a small smile and looked over his shoulder, motioning for him to follow “Well, John, we were just gonna put on a movie. You wanna join us?” he tilted his head, keeping his voice calm and slow. John paused and looked over his shoulder, meeting Barsad’s droopy blues with his uncertain browns. Barsad looked down their little chain to Bane, who gave another nod, which Barsad passed onto John in a small thumbs up. The boy looked back to Kyle and nodded “Okay… yeah.” he shrugged a bit, clearly feeling a little awkward under their gaze. Kyle just gave John a reassuring smile and took him into the room to take a seat “Your brothers can join us too.” he told him, loud enough for the others to hear, but John didn’t respond beyond a small nod.

Around halfway through the movie Barsad and Bane slunk into the back of the room, Barsad staying in a far corner, were he could still see John and the doorway at the same time, and Bane leaned against the wall just by the doorway. No one made a comment on their arrival and they didn't offer anything to say either. Barsad has to smile just a little at how happy John seemed to be watching the screen with Kyle gently whispering excitedly about the movie with him. John always was one for theatrics.

Once the movie was over, the older two watched silently and contently as John conversed enthusiastically, but quietly, about the movie with Kyle. John was still shy, but he was opening up to this boy and Bane smiled gently and warmly, glad John had the chance to talk to someone closer to his age then he or Barsad. The boys begin to move around the room, careful of the two boys sitting in front of the TV, as they began to set up other things, a few moving to unhook the VCR player in favor of a SNES, moving around to give each other turns on the console and watch, whilst other kids set up board games or brought out worn out and old toys.

Barsad found himself, after roughly twenty minutes of standing and watching, being drawn into a game of cards, gladly taking over the deck to teach his friend various card games and tricks. Bane smiles as he watches his brother’s face twitch with just the smallest hints of enjoyment as he proceeds to show off his card handling skills. Bane has yet to meet a man who is better at cards then his brother, oh yes his brother was very good at keeping his face neutral and without a single tell. John crawled over to do what he always did, when he caught on Barsad was playing cards. He drew attention to his brother, bartered for prizes, a reason to win a game of cards. Of course the children decided to play with fake money, but it was more just for the fun of it. Bane shook his head and chuckled a bit as he watched the kids be dished out the fake, colorful paper money, before he turned to a small bookshelf in the room.

He pulled out a copy of The Great Gatsby, and took a seat on the couch, within earshot and eye line of his brothers, and began to read as his brother played cards.

As predicted, Barsad ended winning a majority of the games, he gave a sleepy, wide grin to Bane as he sat with a stack of colorful bills in front of him. They redistribute the fake currency so they could actually play the game they belong too, Bane eventually being dragged over by John to learn how to play. Bane finds it a bit harder to play board games with only one hand functioning at peak capacity, John and Barsad sit on either side of him, helping sort through his pieces and fake money when needed, his right hand tucked up to his chest in a semi fist.

He decides, privately, that overall, for first contact with the other orphan boys, that it didn't go so bad, after all. He looked at his brothers, and he felt a little relaxed at how happy they looked. He feels his heart break a little bit as he thinks of the last member of their family.

____*____

Bane is ten years old when he finds himself on the streets of Gotham city, sliding off a boat as an illegal stowaway, on his shoulder is a two year old girl, with short cropped hair and clothes far to big for her. She’s asleep on his shoulder, and he is glad, she had been so ill on the boat, he’d feared she might not make it with how much bile she was expelling. But they were finally here and she was alive, tired and worn to the bone, but living.

Talia and him had been traveling to get here for months, it feels like a lifetime ago that he was curled up and watching her mother care for the toddler he know found himself in charge of. It is such a far and distant feeling now. Bane weaved his way through the dimly lit port, the moon guiding him into the tall buildings. He had been told many times that America would offer them a chance at survival and equality that many other places would not.

He knows now that he was naive and young, needing to believe in prosperity and hope to survive. America is not the kind, caring place has had dreamed it would be. Within the first week he has been ridiculed and called many crude things. They have very little concern for the toddler he needs to care for, they refuse to give him things to care for her, and he has been forced to flee several times in the fear of being beaten or stabbed out of his life. For now, they are huddled in the top floors of a two story building, he had a small fire going in a large metal pot that he had managed to find. He pulls Talia close, rubbing at her tiny arms to keep her warm in the cold.

“Bana, I hungry!” She called up to him, tilting her little head back to look into his eyes. Bane frowned sadly at her, they had no money to pay for the food, and what he had was meager and had to be saved. They had already eaten the rations for the night, and it is with regret that he has to shake his head no “There's not enough.” he told her gently, willing her to understand.

However, she is two years old and does not understand at all, she starts kicking and screaming “BANA I HUNGRY! Want snack!” she flailed as Bane panicked, pinning her to his chest to keep her little flailing body away from the fire. Her tiny fists strike at his cheekbones and jaw, and he grunts in discomfort “Talia!” he snaps gruffly, but trying to keep his voice down, but she refuses to listen, kicking and screaming and trying to jump up and out of his arms. Bane keeps her in place until she tires herself out, her little face red as big fat tears start rolling down it and he feels terrible for not being able to provide for her.

So he gives her more to eat. Because she’s already getting so thin and he can’t handle seeing her look so miserable and she cheers up when she has more to eat. He sacrifices enough to equate to almost three nights worth of his rations. That same week is when he starts learning to steal. It’s messy at first, and he goes hungry for almost sixteen days before he finally is able to get away with enough food for both him and Talia to eat like kings.

From then on he works very hard to feed her, to make sure her little body stays plump and full with food, even if it means he doesn't get to eat for weeks at a time.

____*____

John is so small, he always has been, and it has always had Bane dotting over him. Even when they didn’t have the rations for it Bane would always give him extra portions of his food, and he would do the same with Barsad if he wasn't so stubborn in refusing him. It’s something that didn't change when they got into the foster system.

They had finally started joining the other boys for meal times instead of hiding in their room, and Bane was content to just listen to his brothers talk, of course Barsad was very brief in his conversation, while John happily got whisked away in many different topics at once. When they were distracted he would slide some of his meal to their plates, he knew Barsad noticed, but the middle child said nothing in the public area, and Bane ate when their attention was on him. He rarely ate as much as them, but his stomach had become hardened to the aching grumble and gripe of hunger years ago. So long as he had something he knew he would be okay.

He doesn't expect John to scrape it back onto his plate, and he looks at John concerned. However, the youngest just smiled softly at him, and he tucks his hands under his thighs. Bane knows well that this is John’s silent sign that he is done eating. Bane furrows his brows more at this, seeing as John usually ate much more at dinner time then this, but it’s the tilted head and encouraging eyes that John gives him, the look he always gives Bane when asking him to think about what’s transpiring, that has him remembering that, unlike previously in their lives, they have three meals a day constantly. Perhaps not the biggest meal, but more than they had before. It’s while this realization dawn on him that Barsad also returns his remaining portions to Bane and silently, with those ever sleepy eyes and that ever devilish grin, demands he eat.

He can not remember the last time he had so much for dinner to himself. Perhaps that is a sign he himself should eat more, but he thinks little of it. His brothers wait patiently and continue to talk as they wait for Bane to finish. His eating had slowed significantly since the damage to his right hand, but he had been working hard to become adept at using his left hand, though it also didn't help that chewing flared the dull throb in his jaw, and the occasional pop it gave if he chewed to quickly. Once he is also done, they deposited their dishes and he watched idly as his brother’s give their good nights before he follows them to the room.

Despite the youngest’s protest, he still picks John up in his good arm and tucks him tightly into the covers, he attempts to do the same for Barsad but he is not only older then John but twice as stubborn. He swats at Bane’s face and gripes at him until Bane finally relents and goes to bed, leaving Barsad up and sat by the window.

“Don’t stay up to late, you are no owl.”

“If I were an owl I do not think we’d be roommates.” Barsad countered gently, but his tone was amused. John gave a snort from were he was laying, and Bane chuckles in turn “You have nothing to laugh of, little bird,” he teased gently, John’s laughing morphing to grumbling. This time it was Barsad’s turn to give an amused chuckle, softly shaking his head “Oh yes, our sweet little Robin, the precious bird of our little group.” he murmured happily. John rolled over to look at him, puffing his cheeks out “Oh yeah!? Well if I'm a little bird, then you're a… a clumsy newborn baby goat!” he shot back hotly. Barsad chuckled, amused with him, “And if I am merely a baby goat, would that make our dear brother a lion?” he teased. Playing along, Bane responded with a deep rumbling sound. John mumbled as he turned back over, but he was smiling and so was Barsad, and therefore Bane was happy and content.

These are the good nights, he reminds himself as he closes his eyes to sleep. They are wonderful, jovial, and far to few in number. It's not that most nights are bad, rather they're simply just nights. They're boring and meaningless. But nights were they go to bed smiling and laughing, those mean something.

____

Lessons with Father Riley very in success. Bane would not consider himself a prodigy by any stretch, but he is well knowledge, reading was always a pass time of his, and he often found he memorized things on an extremely detailed level. In other words, Bane remembers things very well, Father Riley, in his gaining age, does not. Often, he will be spouting religious sermons or false facts, which lead to Bane often finding himself getting into quite, stern, debates with Father Riley. So, Bane puts it upon himself to make sure Barsad and John are learning the proper facts they should be, they spend many night huddled up with Bane as he reads passages from history books with them, or reviews their math homework, both corrected and not. He will give Father Riley credit where credit is due, and he will accept any reasonable negative marks he may give them, but if they are completely false reasons Bane will often sit with Father Riley in his office as they debate back and forth as to why his grading was either true or false in nature. Bane doesn’t always win these arguments, but often times Father Riley relents.

Bane knows he is a difficult child to raise, he has always been far too smart for the comfort of most adults, but he has not let that bother him in many years. At the current time, he was up, late at night, reading through John’s spelling homework. School work has always been one of John’s least favorite things, he declared it often, even when they first met and Bane required he read books and write short passages from them to advance his literature and English skills. Being in a setting that is homely on some days and school like on others is frustrating for John, most inconsistent things are. Barsad has been spending many hours of the day sitting John down for meditation and breathing time, though they are all aware that it will not prevent a blowout, rather, it will simply delay it.

Bane glances up at them with his deep hazel eyes, Barsad and John are sitting crisscross from each other, their hands intertwined and gripped in one another's between them as they breathe slowly and calmly, their eyes are closed, and heads tilted down ever so slightly. Bane can see the tension running down John’s neck and into his spine, the way his jaw clenches, but he is as relaxed as he can be for the time. Bane looks back to the papers he has in his left hand, his other hand is loosely wrapped around a fairly sized green foam ball, his fingers loosely curled around it. It’s the only therapeutic exercise Father Riley could afford for his hand, he will make do with it. However, most frustrating, he finds his pinkie refused to move from the place it has taken curled against his palm.

He sets the paper aside, concluding he’ll have to talk to John about some of the words, but decides it is not important enough to interrupt his meditation time. Instead, he grabs Barsad’s math homework to review that as well. After awhile he placed that paper down, looking up at those he considered his brothers. He stood up and sat to the side of them, but in a way that still had them centered between their bodies. He gently reached out, making sure not to disturb them to much as to break their meditative state, taking one of their hands in his own, creating a triangle between them. He felt John squeeze his hand, and returned the gesture in a reassuring manner, squeezing Barsad’s hand as well.

Together, they slipped into deep meditation, calming themselves and each other, and found a temporary feeling of relaxation and stability. Perhaps it was not the most ideal situation for them, but they were willing to give this all a chance. To try and live and grow as they were meant to. To stop surviving and start living.


	3. Chapter 2: Barsad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, the next few weeks from the perception of Barsad.

Barsad finds he likes being on top of the St. Swithin’s building, it’s fenced off so he doesn’t have to worry to much about falling, but he finds it comforting up there. They are away from to many prying eyes as the children can play in their own personal playground up above. But Barsad doesn’t like it because of the privacy it offers. He likes it because he can see so much more up there. See, Barsad has always been a people watcher, even before his family died. He has learned to look at people and read them as if they were open books, there are few people who can hide their true nature from him when he is truly looking. So, he often finds himself on the old green, paint peeling, wooden bleachers the orphanage has pressed against one of the fence walls, watching the people below. He watches them talk, and they are to far for him to read their lips, but he does not mind that to much. Their body language tells him enough.

Mostly he sees anger and stress. But what he finds most intriguing are the rare few with a true bone deep tiredness, and exhaustion brought on by a life of pain. As he stares at the people passing below, in a terrible part of a torcherd city, he wonders how many that pass were orphans themselves. How many had grown up here, in this same building, like he and his brothers were destined to? How many had seen death with their own eyes, not just on a screen but before them, able to smell and see the blood.

His brothers tell him he should not think of death as often as he does, just as they tell John that he should not think of all men the way he does. But, alas, it can not be helped, in silent moments like he faces now Barsad is consumed with his thoughts, watching far below with his back towards the play-yard, knees held up to his chest and head tilted slightly. He remembers vividly the sound of his mother dying, he remembers the smell of his father's corpse as it burnt, and most of all he remembers how the body of his infant brother was first covered in blood, and later shriveled into coals.

 

The first foster family he went to in Ängelholm, Skane, had taken him to therapy for a few weeks. He himself knew without question that he would forever be damaged by what he saw, he had not needed a therapist to clarify this for him, but the family that had first taken him in seemed to. They sent him away when he started talking about their deaths. He had informed them, based on his observations of their daily lives, what ways it was most likely for them to die. He had only lived their for two months. Other families were much quicker to give the empty eyed, death talking boy away. But he can not help it. He knows now that everybody will die someday, and he knows now not every death is painless or pleasant, once he had feared dying, but now it seemed an inconvenience more than much anything. Death was inevitable, and he saw no point in being afraid of something one could not stop.

He knew he himself was most likely to die in one of several ways. Either he would die of sleep deprivation, be killed for being far to nosy for his own good, or he would live until his own body tore him apart. He knew Bane would most likely die young trying to protect him and John, perhaps he would end up in prison for harming a man in their defense, or his medical conditions would get the better of him. John was most likely to be beaten to death for angering the wrong man, or trusting another to much. They were not pleasant thoughts, no, he would like to have his brother for as long as he could, and if his theories were incorrect and they lived long lives he would forever be happy. Yes he would be sad in a world were they were no longer alive. But he was not afraid of them dying, he was not afraid of he himself dying. He saw no paint in fearing it any longer.

He loves his brothers, though, because they except this part of him. A seed that had been planted since the flecks of his mother’s blood had splattered across his face, as he ran from the shadow that intended to kill him as well. They knew his traumas would never leave him the same, thoughts of death did not consume his life, but often when all was calm and the hours had ticked by in silence he would find the thoughts creeping in through the crevasses of his mind until in consumed his every waking moment until the spell was broken. He loved his brothers because they understood how he hurt, even if he does not always remember how to express he is hurt. John expresses his traumas in anger and yet childlike innocence. Bane expresses his trauma in kindness and love towards his family, but defensive anger to those he doesn't know. Barsad expresses his own in quite hours contemplating the way the people around him will die, or how they may hurt those he loves.

He blinks out from his thoughts and turns his head as he hears shoes grinding into the concrete of the roof. John is standing their, next to Kyle, the boy who has the gap in his teeth. His dear sweet brother is holding an old and scuffed up looking red dodge ball. His little brother looks over his shoulder at a group of kids and then back at Barsad, holding out the ball, a silent invitation to play.

He blinks at it a few times, and slowly uncurls himself, getting up and walking behind his brother to join in the play, just for a while.

____

Barsad is woken in the night by something loud, kicking into action as soon as he heard the loud thunk, grabbing a baseball bat John had stolen for him some few days ago and helped hide under his bed. He stands up to listen and is suddenly aware just how close the thumping was. He hears wheezing, coughing in desperation and the sound of things being pulled around, and then the sound of someone fumbling to open a clip in desperation but failing.

Barsad drops his bat and rushes across the room, John finally starting to stir, eyes wide and fear coming across his face. Barsad kneels by were Bane had fallen from his bed, lifting his head onto his lap to reach over him as well as to be sure he was fine. Feet could be heard rushing through the halls and up the steps to their room. His older brother is coughing, wheezing and hacking as he tries to breathe desperately but unable to suck in the air. Wasting not time, Barsad flicks the clip of the small black case for Bane’s medical supplies open, pulling out his inhaler and quickly sticking it into Bane’s mouth, his brother’s hand coming to rest on top of his, both hands clutching it, Bane’s finger pushing Barsad’s down into the plunger as the inhaler delivers his relief.

The door opens then and Father Riley is in the doorway with his own metal bat, looking around worriedly until he spots them, on the floor, Barsad supporting Bane. Riley carefully lets the bat fall to his side before propping it against the door, moving closer, and kneeling down on the other side of Bane, opposite of Barsad. John rushes over from his bed, fumbling to see Bane’s face as the older boy gently pushes Riley back. Holding little John’s hand with he free hand, and takes an extra breath of his medication just to be sure before carefully tucking it back in his case, a few coughs still seeping from his throat but much more controlled now.

Barsad squeezes his arm, whispering in gentle Russian “My brother, are you well…?” he question in concern. Bane nods to him, moving even further away from Father Riley to grab John, pulling him and Barsad close. The old man has enough sense of self preservation not to make a move closer again, yet. Perhaps he worried to much, but he knew he had to know they were well. Barsad loved them, more than anything. He often doesn’t use his words to describe this, instead he relies on his actions, like he does now. He’s not one for physical contact often, but he is always willing to let his brothers hold him or vise versa. Now he touched them to be sure they are both well and safe. A hand on Bane’s chest, to feel his breaths in and out, and another hand on John’s arm, to feel how warm and full of life he is.

He hadn’t realized silent tears had started escaping his blank eyes until Bane’s calloused hand lifted gently to swipe away at the salty water with a rough yet kind thumb. Barsad turns his face in shame of his tears, leaning forward to bump his forehead gently into Bane’s chest. John is still sloppy in his languages, but he asks in broken and stuttered Russian if Barsad is okay. He nods to John, and pulls him closer to himself and Bane. All he wanted right now was to know they were both safe and well.

Father Riley breaks the fragile silence with a gentle whisper “Do you boys need anything? Water? Tea?” he inquires softly. Bane speaks for them, knowing Barsad and John were personally to shaken to answer, “Water will do, Father. Water will do.” he tells him in a gentle, strained sounding voice. The man nods his head and stands from the children on the ground, wandering off and down the steps to the kitchen. Bane takes this time to truly hug his brother, pulling them close. Barsad leans into his body, John squishing up against his side. They are shaken with their older brothers sudden fit, but they know they will make it. They will be strong for each other.

By the time Father Riley returns with a tray that holds three glasses of water they’ve separated and put space between themselves. They each take a glass, John muttering a quiet and gentle thank you. Father Riley hesitates for a moment to leave, but eventually accepts he is not needed further and gently picks up his bat and walks away, Barsad closing the door behind him, not a word further passed between any of them. Bane lays back in his bed, his breathing just a little rougher still but better, and John moves his bedding to be on the floor by Bane’s bed, worried and frightened and needing the comfort of proximity. Barsad, on the other hand, does not lay back down at all, instead he sits on the window, opening it so his feet could dangle outside, his arms on the walls to keep him from falling out, and he watched the city glow in the night, to shaken to sleep further for a while.

He looks to his brothers, and his arms tremble at the idea that he could have lost his eldest brother that night. He could not lose another sibling, his fragile mind would not withstand such trauma.

____*____

“Boy will be boys.”

His mama used to say that a lot, before the shadow came and took her away. He used to wrestle with the other boys, and he didn’t always win, but he thought he had gotten good and fighting. When he ran away from the foster home, he felt he would be strong enough to get where he needed to. Until the bad men came and forced him onto their boat. He wasn’t strong enough to make them stop, to leave him alone, and for days he was stuck in a box heading overseas and blind to were they were going.

When they finally reached land, far from home, he ran, escaping by the skin of his teeth. He did not know their language. It sounded strange, and it definitely wasn’t from home. He found other boys on the street, but they weren’t nice either.

But he could stop them from hurting him. He felt strong among them. They couldn’t hurt him like the bad men or the shadow could. He thought no boy could hurt him anymore. He was to strong for that. But then he met Bane. Bane was big and strong.

Barsad was only ten and starving, Bane was twelve and a giant. Barsad had stolen bread from him, but Bane had caught him. He pinned Barsad with his bone thin frame and dead eyes against a wall, his voice thick with another accent that Barsad did not know. The words he spoke made little sense, he had picked up some words in English over his year of living on the streets, but he was still mostly clueless. He understood the words “kill you” just fine, however. Many people threatened to kill him now.

He reeled back and spit in the boys face, and in Russian told him to fuck himself.

Bane punched him so hard he blacked out.

When he woke up, he was surprised that he had even managed to wake. Barsad was sure that Bane would kill him for stealing from him, for slurring at him. Instead of seeing Bane, however, he saw a four year old of indeterminate gender, their hair was short, shaved and starting to bristle in as it grew, and standing with their tiny fists on their hips. They threw their head back and to the side, looking were Barsad could not see, and slurred out words in English again to another.

Bane came into view shortly after, a rag in hand he used to dab at Barsad’s skull. The water hurt his head, he was sure he must have a wound, and his head throbbed as he shifted to look at the boy kneeling above him. He croaked out to the older boy, in his tongue of Swedish this time, “Why have you not killed me?” he asked, tears in his eyes. Bane pulled his hand back, the rag in it red with Barsad’s blood, and responded in perfect Swedish “Be grateful my sister cares for human life so deeply, else you would not have met the fate you have.” he told him seriously, and moved away. He learned later the child was Bane’s supposed sister, and she was named Talia. 

From that day on, Talia refused to let him leave, her fascination for this new boy of Swedish and Russian tongue seemed to enrapture her, she would have Bane drag him back and follow him if he left, and if he did not eat should would have Bane make him eat, and if he did not sleep she would have Bane make him sleep. After a week Talia started teaching him English in her broken, childish, speech. Within a month he became her brother, and in another two he became Bane’s.

It was there that he found a home with them. He was happy, for the first time since the shadow had stolen his family, with them he felt safe, he felt right.

____*____

“Boys will be boys, Father.” Barsad told Father Riley blandly, as if talking about the weather. Bane and Barsad had escorted themselves into Riley’s office after the man had a shouting match at poor John, who had finally snapped and in the end his anger had caused another boy to become physically hurt. John had come to them crying after Father Riley’s reprimanding, and neither were happy with such an outcome.

Riley’s brows lowered, unnamed and displeased “He nearly broke another boy’s arm, Alexander-”

“Perhaps if you had not pushed him as hard as you have to learn what he clearly does not understand his anger would not have gotten the best of him.” Bane cut in, Barsad’s blank face twisting in displeasure at Riley’s use of his first name. His name had not be used since he was a megere boy being passed from home to home. Riley sighed, shoulders slumping heavily “Bane, school for you boys starts in a number of weeks, you three have missed a majority of your education. John can not behave like this in school, especially if this is about not understanding what he is being taught.” he told them seriously “Their will be many things he does not understand-”

“John understands if you use the right words.” Barsad cut in “He is rather brilliant, but when a man he barely knows is SHOVING information down his THROAT as if he intends to CHOKE him on it,” Barsad hissed out, barely able to keep his voice down and at reasonable levels, “and treating him as if he were idiotic for not understanding you, then you should perhaps not be teaching him.” he leaned forward in his seat, his icy blue eyes cold and serious “Do not act as if you know what is best for us, or how we are to understand things. You know nothing of my brothers and me, Riley. You’ve read a paper. A paper does not hold a soul.” he snarled at him. He left without another word.

Of course Riley was in shock, he could see it written on his face as he left. It was the most he had ever said to the priest since arriving two months ago. Bane stood, and he heard a gentle, but stern comment form Bane towards the older man, before he joined Barsad in his trek up the stairs and back to their room. John was curled up on his bed, hand on his ankles and his face in his knees as he rocked, back hitching and twitching with silent sobs.

Barsad felt his anger wash away as he moved to sit with him, wrapping John up in his arms. Bane moved to the other side, hugging John close as well, shushing him gently and rocking him to sooth away his tears.

He would do anything to keep his brother happy, and safe, and comfortable. He’d do anything at all.

____

Barsad is, understandably, not allowed guns. They’re dangerous and in such a crowded space, a boy could easily steal it and hurt another, though he knows they won’t give it to him because they think him incompetent. However, that does not mean he does not have a gun at all. He snuck the gun in his jacket, the one he met Father Riley in, and their it remained.

The upside to living in a less than friendly part of Gotham is the fact that no one thinks twice of gunshots, they won’t get involved because it could mean they could get shot as well. It also means no one had the money to afford good security systems. Breaking out of St. Swithin’s and into a building down the block was easy, like a sunday stroll almost. Bane and John had come with him, not wanting to be separated, despite being ready for bed. Barsad was in his loose, jet black sweatpants and a baggy old shirt with a logo so faded he can't even remember what it once was. Bane was without his shirt entirely, exposing his flat, slightly bulging stomach, and thick pecs and arms, wearing a loose pair of cargo pants and his back bracer. John was in his pajamas, white with blue pinstripes designs on the pants and night shirt, he had his dark blue blanket over his shoulders and his pillow grasped in his arms as he yawned sleepily.

Father Riley has been rather harsh with them since John’s outburst and Barsad’s reprimand, they think it will not last forever, but it causes all of them great stress and frustration. Whilst Bane can shrug off any stress, as a duck does water, with simple menial labor and meditation the same could not be said for Barsad and John. John needed to explode, to scream and shout and punch and flail, to work through his frustration and sadness in loud, energetic, violence. His anger is much harder to provoke then John’s, but Barsad needed his gun in times like these, where everything felt like it was bubbling under the surface, ready to burst through his skin and tear out of him. His anger manifests into hopelessness, and the last time something as such happened Bane had dragged him away from the body of the man who had, in that point in time, caused a majority of his stress.

Of them all his anger is the worst, not because of his strength but because of his volatility. He could scream, and shout, and throw things like John, or he could dip into a deep depression and suicidal thoughts would creep inside his mind. Or he could work himself up to believe the only answer to his problems was to murder the cause of them, or to wander off and vanish, to torture himself physically until the pain made him forget why he was so angry in the first place.

Or, he could catch the anger while it was small, as it is now, and he could shoot it out of the bullets in his gun.

Barsad lined up bottles and cans on the far wall, propped up on a counter that never got torn down as the building was slowly abandoned. He moved himself across the room, towards a window, and his brothers stood behind him. He took a gentle breath, rolled his shoulders to loosen them up, and then lifted his pistol up, closing one eye and taking aim.

He held his breath, feeling his lungs begin to protest as they were denied oxygen.

And then he fired.

And as the bullet flew through the weak metal of a can, and he felt just a little less angry.

With each bang and bullet, each sound of tin clanking with a bullet or glass shattering under the force of a gun, he felt just a little bit better. They sat for two or three hours, Bane coddling John as he drifted in and out of sleep, before Barsad felt like he was calm enough that all would be well for some stretch of time more.

He tucked his gun inside his jacket and looked to Bane, giving a gentle nod. Bane stood up, carefully picking John up, hissing gently for a moment as his back protested, before nodding to Barsad, signaling he was ready to go. They walked down the steps in a still silence, the absence of the gun shots causing the sudden silence to feel strange and foreign to their ears. Bane passed John to Barsad, the middle child cradling the youngest of them the best he could. Bane carefully jumped up onto the fire escape, the ladder was broken and rotted away by rust and years of abuse from the city, Bane leaned down,reaching his arms down for his smallest brother, Barsad handing the sleeping preteen to him. 

Bane panted and heaved, but managed to pull John up with himself, before Barsad leaped up as well, pulling himself onto the fire escape with his brothers. Silently, they walked up and up the fire escape tell they made it to their still open window. Barsad crawled in fist, reaching to take John from Bane, placing the young boy on his bed, before returning to help Bane through the window.

Barsad stored his Gun safely away, hidden and ever unknown of as before, and then he lay down, pulling his blanket up and around his body, rolling until he reset on his side, and he fell asleep, calm and serene as ever he could be.

As he sleeps he sees nothing, black static, blank, still, and silent behind his eyelids, his dreams forgotten before they could even truly form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wouldn't start posting until I was done, but I felt like everyone was waiting long enough, so far this is all I've got to offer, but I'm slowly working on more!


	4. MID STORY UPDATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER

Hello! I just wanted to make a quick update to thank everyone for being so so patient with me. This story is NOT dead, I simply haven't had a lot of time to write or think of this story, as I am graduating this year, and I have had a lot on my mind, I have had so much to do. But fear not this story is not dead, I've simply just haven't had time to work on it, on top of other secret little projects I've been working on. I've also been improving my art skills over the past few months which takes away from my time to write. Regardless of this know this story is NOT dead! And that the next chapter might have a bit of personal art I've made for it, if have the time to draw it!

As always feed back is welcome, and I hope to get this next chapter out sometime before summer! If I don't I'll continue to keep you updated. I'm sorry to say I'm only roughly a page or two into John's first chapter, but it won't be forever my dears!

Lots of luck and love from,  
Blakpaw!

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Side note, this story is probably NOT going to be dialogue heavy, a lot of it is going to be silent communication between the three, with occasional dialogue.


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